My heart hurts from racing and I feel dizzy.
The seven rooms may be dressed to feel calm but don’t be mistaken; repeating groups of like-colored furniture and a Muzak track that sounds like you’re out on the patio of the W hotel is just the safety zone. Plug-in your headphones and you might begin to feel numb as a voyeur in an unintelligible world that mixes the ambience of late night porn adverts (without the nudity or sexual innuendo) with the vapid self-made star performances as seen on YouTube. Every so often a word is recognizable as English, like “individual” or “sledgehammer” but for the most part language has suffered a breakdown, enhanced by the tweaked-out voices reminiscent of a heavy handed Auto-Tune.* In the first room I was addicted; I couldn’t leave but I didn’t want more. Ryan Trecartin is not to blame for this, he has just created a snapshot of where we are now: a non-place of chaotic noise.
* The trailer is far more lexical than the actual films.